


Dwimordene's 2008 Birthday fics

by Dwimordene



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: General, Multi-Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 08:27:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4214935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dwimordene/pseuds/Dwimordene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>NOTE: These are drabbles written by other authors as birthday fics. I don't want to delete because I don't know if any of them have a copy, but I also know I'll probably be offline for another year or more. Anyone who wants to claim their drabbles, please do so and just copy them to your account.</p><p>For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Amends - Nath

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

The air in his lungs burned as he dove even deeper. In a reflex he closed his hand in a fist around the Ring.

Making sure the Ring was secure on his finger, he scrambled on to the western shore of the Great River, automatically checking for enemies. Where was he? The current had taken him further than he thought it would.

Evading the Orcs he knew were there, he at last collapsed to his knees in exhaustion. He had escaped, but at what price? Elendur, Aratan, Ciryon; lost to his arrogant folly. Weregild, he had said, weregild the Ring, now drenched in the blood of his sons, would be for his father and his brother. Precious, he had called it; paid for twice-over now in what was more precious than any gold could ever be. He should have listened to Elrond and Círdan.

He nearly turned around to fling the Ring into the river, but that would be folly compounded. Should he go on to Imladris? He already knew Elrond's counsel.

With a strangled sound halfway between a sigh and a sob, Isildur, High King of Arnor and Gondor, turned south and started the journey back to Mount Doom.


	2. Amends - Nath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

NOOOOOOOO!

The captains’ heads had barely snapped up before Celeborn had whipped out of the council chamber. Up, up he ran, long legs flashing, past the maidens carrying new bandages for the wounded. He couldn’t let himself think, he couldn’t…up, up, past the startled guards…

And burst into the bedchamber. There she was, collapsed onto a chair, screaming as her mind was laid bare. Already, his hand had drawn the knife, and he watched it sink, unerringly, into that beloved throat. The screams abruptly stopped.

Far off in Valinor, Celebrían lay curled into a ball, her eyes turned, unseeing, East. So passed the Ring-bearers from Middle-Earth


	3. Heir Presumptive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

**AU scenario: what if Eärnur had left an heir, after all, and there were no reigning Stewards in Gondor?**

**Council of Gondor, 15 th March 3019 (King Minardil III has fallen at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, earlier in the day):**

Halbarad, emissary of the Dunedain, said: "In this hour of peril, I urge the council to recognise the claim of  Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir, and heir also through Fíriel to the line of Anárion."

Denethor, the Steward, said, "Such claim as he has, we do not recognise. Gondor belongs to the heirs of Meneldil Anárion's son, to whom Isildur gave this realm. In Gondor, the descent of Kings is reckoned through the sons only, and we have not heard that it is otherwise in Arnor."

Faramir, the Steward's son looked troubled, and spoke, "And yet, Lord, Isildur Elendil's son was High King of both realms. He never formally relinquished the rule of Gondor, and Anárion's son Meneldil was his regent, merely. Surely he did not intend the kindred realms to be estranged?"

Denethor frowned at his son. "The wizard's counsel, yet again, but from your tongue, Lord Faramir!" Then he raised his hand to silence Prince Imrahil, who had started to his feet. "Peace! This is no time for such debates. My King, who died heirless, is but a few hours cold in his tomb, and grief has dulled our reason. Lord Halbarad, your company has ridden fast and far, and you are weary. The hour grows late - let us seek our rest while we may, for tomorrow's need will surely be sterner."


	4. Least Expected - by Imhiriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

Soon after crossing the Fords of Isen a sharp challenge disturbs the night.  
  
"Halbarad Dúnadan, Ranger of the North I am," I call back. "We seek one Aragorn son of Arathorn, and we heard that he was in Rohan."  
  
One rider comes forward from the shadowy host facing us. No warrior, this: a wizened figure, face oddly pale by starlight.  
  
"You won't find him here; unbidden stranger that he was..."  
  
Too slow to react to his furtive hand-signal, the lethal arrow quickly robbing me of all senses but pain, the last I hear in life his mocking words:  
  
"...like you."  
  
~*~  
  
A/N:  
\- "Of all joys this is the least expected!" - Aragorn's words in RotK, The Passing of the Grey Company.  
\- Halbarad's dialogue is taken from the actual scene ibid.  
\- Gríma's appearence is as described in TTT, The King of the Golden Hall.  
\- "We welcomed guests kindly in the better days, but in these times the unbidden stranger finds us swift and hard", says Éomer in TTT, The Riders of Rohan.

~*~

Imhiriel 


	5. Untitled - thelauderdale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

It is Autumn when they come to Bree and the inn is filled with half-Orcs, who fawn on them. One tries to be cavalier. "Ho lads, but you took your own time getting here. We've held this fat land two years now and thought to be relieved before." Norgush, who is not friendly this way, smiles, motions the fellow closer, and breaks his neck with an easy twist. The room is quiet as the corpse hits the floor.  
  
In another room a woman is weeping.  
  
"We have heard of your Sharkey in the Southeast," says Norgush. "We come to rendezvous."


	6. A Treasure Retrieved - by Larner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

"What has it got in its pocketses? Well, now we knows, doesn't we, Preciouss?" Gollum muttered to himself as he sought the one he was certain held his treasure. "Thief! Where is Baggins?"  
  
Suddenly he heard a cry of surprise and pain; and although he could not see the one with whom he'd shared riddles in the dark, he had a good idea as to where he might be. He ran toward where it sounded as if a creature might have tripped over a fallen stone, and found himself stumbling over an unseen body.  
  
"So, we has you at last, has we?" Gollum said, wrapping his hands about the neck he might not see but could certainly feel. "Thief! False!"  
  
*******  
  
Some hours later, his stomach full, he murmured, "Ah--much sweeter meat than orcses! Must try this again, perhapsss. Yes, we likes Hobbitses very much."  
  
He sat back, then pulled the leather pouch he wore fastened to his rope belt loose, untying the coarse gut that usually held it closed. "Here," he said as he picked up a now-visible object and examined it. "You're a tricksy one, aren't you, my Precious? But look--you have a finger now, all your own for when I can't wear you."  
  
He smiled as he dropped Ring and finger into the bag....


	7. Prisoner of Time - by Raksha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

In the house that the heirs of Steward Mardil have held for hundreds of years in the first circle of Minas Tirith, the twenty-sixth and last Ruling Steward sits behind marble walls, watching the sands of the hourglass trickle down the moments.  
  
He refuses to go to the window, or even to have it opened. Outside, the cries are loud enough to hear all too well. The usurper rides through the streets of the White City. The City that had entombed his lady, the City his son had died for, now throws open her broken gates to Isildur's upstart heir like a giddy strumpet opening perfumed knees. _Faithless,_ thinks Denethor, _all are faithless._ Not for the first time, he wonders if he should have shut his heart against the wizard's words in the Hallows, and lit his own pyre.  
  
"You are needed," Mithrandir had said. And, for Faramir and their City and Gondor itself, Denethor had shaken off despair and reclaimed his duty. He had led the defenses on the south wall, fighting in the front until the Morgul-spawn retreated, caught between the hammer of the captains of the West who scoured the Pelennor and the anvil of Minas Tirith itself. He had seen the return of Captain Thorongil in a captured Corsair fleet, the _palantír'_ s last terrible vision of the proven both true and utterly false.  
  
Denethor had bade that Captain, now calling himself Chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain, stay outside the City walls, and returned to the Houses of Healing. Mithrandir had begged him to let the so-called Heir of Isildur come and heal Faramir; but Denethor would not suffer the outlander to lay hands on Faramir on the strength of an old woman's doggerel. Hands of a King indeed!  
  
Denethor had only allowed the removal of the sick perian, Meriadoc, and the dead Theoden's stricken niece, to the tents of the Pelennor, because young Éomer had asked to take them, and they were under his command. Then, exhausted, Denethor had sat by Faramir's bedside as the hours wore into the morning, and the healers and nurses and herbalists strove vainly to save his only remaining son.  
  
Faramir had died as the sun had risen, never waking to forgive or even speak to his father.  
  
In the dark days that followed, Denethor had returned to the only thing he had left, the Stewardship of his land. He could offer no comfort to the white-faced Éowyn of Rohan, who had been brought back to the Houses of Healing for further care. She had fled eastward, never to return, following the Armies who had hurled themselves into the Enemy's maw. Still, Denethor had labored with all his strength to fortify and rebuild and succor the White City. Finally, word had come of the Enemy's downfall, and with it, the claim of the northern upstart to the Kingship of Gondor.  
  
Denethor had sworn to hold the City, and Gondor, against the usurper. But his Council, that band of recreants, had refused him! Some, like his kinsman Húrin, had been seduced away by fancies or Elvish glamours; some had feared the thousands of Rohirrim commanded by the young king who called Thorongil "brother". And some, like his own brother by marriage, had doubted Denethor's own soundness of mind. The Council had turned away from Denethor. They had taken away the Steward's Chair, saying that the new King would decide whether to name a new Steward to sit on it. Denethor had gone once more to Rath Dinen, broken the white rod of his office, and laid its remnants upon Faramir's tomb.  
  
They had not taken Denethor's ancestral lands, his family accounts, or the heirlooms of Ecthelion and Turgon and so many others. No one had come to demand that Denethor swear fealty to the man who had stolen Gondor from him as well as his father's love. They had just left him alone, behind the sable curtains, surrounded by the servants who had once dutifully borne Faramir to the pyre, in the cool dignity of the ancient house.  
  
Outside the windows, the people sing a song that Denethor does not recognize. He hears the trill and clang of bells, the clop of horses' hooves. If he were to open the windows, he would see the man who took his place swaggering through streets where once Denethor's own sons had so proudly walked. He wonders idly if they are throwing flowers down upon Thorongil's unkempt, and now crowned, head.  
  
No, he will keep the windows closed. Perhaps he will call for tea, or wine. Denethor really does not care much about eating and drinking anymore; but he will keep up his strength, if only to spite those who might prefer him gone.  
  
The sands run their course. Slowly, Denethor turns over the hourglass.


	8. Narn I Hîn Elrond - by Jay of Lasgalen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

**Narn I Hîn Elrond  
**  
(The Tale Of The Children Of Elrond)  
  
1st March, FA 120  
  
As Arwen left the House of the Kings the great doors closed behind her with a final, fateful thud. She came down the time-worn steps and it seemed to her brothers that all the ravages of age and time had fallen on her in an instant. No longer their little sister, she looked older now; her face worn with sorrow and lined from a life lived with both great joy and an even greater loss. Her head seemed covered with a cap of silver lace and frosted strands threaded the braids of her dark hair.  
  
Elladan and Elrohir had already made their own parting with one they loved like a brother, leaving her to make her own final - and eternal - farewell. As she emerged into the silent street they stepped one each side of her, enfolding her with their love and comfort. Elladan cast his cloak about her shoulders to ward off time's bitter embrace. "Come, little sister," he urged. "Our ship awaits. Will you sail with us?"  
  
The light in her seemed quenched as she nodded sadly, leaning against him for support; as frail as a wilted flower. "Yes. There is nothing here for me now. We will sail."


	9. Untitled - by maya_ar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

**AU scenario: What if Eärnur had left an heir, after all, and there were no reigning Stewards in Gondor?  
**  
Council of Gondor, 15th March 3019 (King Minardil III has fallen at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, earlier in the day):  
  
Halbarad, emissary of the Dunedain, said: "In this hour of peril, I urge the council to recognise the claim of Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Isildur's Heir, and heir also through Firiel to the line of Anárion."  
  
Denethor, the Steward, said, "Such claim as he has, we do not recognise. Gondor belongs to the heirs of Meneldil Anárion's son, to whom Isildur gave this realm. In Gondor, the descent of Kings is reckoned through the sons only, and we have not heard that it is otherwise in Arnor."  
  
Faramir, the Steward's son looked troubled, and spoke, "And yet, Lord, Isildur Elendil's son was High King of both realms. He never formally relinquished the rule of Gondor, and Anárion's son Meneldil was his regent, merely. Surely he did not intend the kindred realms to be estranged?"  
  
Denethor frowned at his son. "The wizard's counsel, yet again, but from your tongue, Lord Faramir!" Then he raised his hand to silence Prince Imrahil, who had started to his feet. "Peace! This is no time for such debates. My King, who died heirless, is but a few hours cold in his tomb, and grief has dulled our reason. Lord Halbarad, your company has ridden fast and far, and you are weary. The hour grows late - let us seek our rest while we may, for tomorrow's need will surely be sterner."


	10. Last Stroke - by Elena Tiriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

  


> 'The Corsairs of Umbar!' men shouted.... 'The Corsairs are upon us! It is the last stroke of doom!'  
>   
>  _The Return of the King_ , LoTR Book 5, Ch 6, _The Battle of the Pelennor Fields_  
> 

  


  
**Last Stroke**  
by Elena Tiriel

  
Watchmen on the walls tolled the alarm: a menacing armada foaming against the stream — dromunds, galleys of great draught — black sails bellying in the stiffening breeze.

He took a stand atop a green hillock, letting blow the horns to rally the battle-fit; for he thought to fight there on foot till all fell, though none be left to remember.

His ancient sword he lifted high in stern defiance.

Upon the foremost ship a black standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she turned towards the Havens:

_The Red Eye._

The Straight Way now blocked, Círdan faced his people's doom.

 

* * *

  


**Author's Notes**

Oh, you thought this was about Éomer at the Battle of the Pelennor? That's because I steal from the best!

Seriously, the soul-stirring quote about Éomer on the Pelennor is one of my favorite passages of _The Lord of the Rings_ , and it provided the inspiration — and much of the language! — for this drabble:

> It was even as the day thus began to turn against Gondor and their hope wavered that a new cry went up in the City.... In that clear air watchmen on the walls saw afar a new sight of fear, and their last hope left them.  
>   
> For Anduin, from the bend at the Harlond, so flowed that from the City men could look down it lengthwise for some leagues, and the far-sighted could see any ships that approached. And looking thither they cried in dismay; for black against the glittering stream they beheld a fleet borne up on the wind: dromunds, and ships of great draught with many oars, and with black sails bellying in the breeze.  
>   
> 'The Corsairs of Umbar!' men shouted. 'The Corsairs of Umbar! Look! The Corsairs of Umbar are coming! So Belfalas is taken, and the Ethir, and Lebennin is gone. The Corsairs are upon us! It is the last stroke of doom!'  
>   
> And some without order, for none could he found to command them in the City, ran to the bells and tolled the alarm; and some blew the trumpets sounding the retreat....  
>   
> The Rohirrim indeed had no need of news or alarm. All too well they could see for themselves the black sails. For Éomer was now scarcely a mile from the Harlond, and a great press of his first foes was between him and the haven there, while new foes came swirling behind, cutting him off from the Prince. Now he looked to the River, and hope died in his heart.... But the hosts of Mordor were enheartened, and filled with a new lust and fury they came yelling to the onset.  
>   
> Stern now was Éomer's mood.... He let blow the horns to rally all men to his banner that could come thither; for he thought to make a great shield-wall at the last, and stand, and fight there on foot till all fell, and do deeds of song on the fields of Pelennor, though no man should be left in the West to remember the last King of the Mark. So he rode to a green hillock and there set his banner, and the White Horse ran rippling in the wind....
>
>> Now for wrath, now for ruin and a red nightfall!
> 
> These staves he spoke, yet he laughed as he said them. For once more lust of battle was on him; and he was still unscathed, and he was young, and he was king: the lord of a fell people. And lo! even as he laughed at despair he looked out again on the black ships, and he lifted up his sword to defy them.
> 
> And then wonder took him, and a great joy; and he cast his sword up in the sunlight and sang as he caught it. And all eyes followed his gaze, and behold! upon the foremost ship a great standard broke, and the wind displayed it as she turned towards the Harlond. There flowered a White Tree, and that was for Gondor; but Seven Stars were about it, and a high crown above it, the signs of Elendil that no lord had borne for years beyond count. And the stars flamed in the sunlight, for they were wrought of gems by Arwen daughter of Elrond; and the crown was bright in the morning, for it was wrought of mithril and gold.
> 
>  _The Return of the King_ , LoTR Book 5, Ch 6, _The Battle of the Pelennor Fields_  
> 

But my wicked muse whispered to me: what if it were the flag of Sauron that was unfurled on the lead ship instead? It is, after all, also black:

> [The Mouth of Sauron] it was that now rode out, and with him came only a small company of black-harnessed soldiery, and a single banner, black but bearing on it in red the Evil Eye.  
>   
>  _The Return of the King_ , LoTR Book 5, Ch 10, _The Black Gate Opens_  
> 

And this drabble resulted. It is what might have happened if Aragorn had not captured the Corsair fleet, and Gondor not won the Battle of the Pelennor. For, in that case, I think Sauron would have used the Corsair fleet to attack the Grey Havens to cut off the path of escape for all Elves (and Peredhil) left in Middle-earth:

> Only the 'immortals', the lingering Elves, may still if they will, wearying of the circle of the world, take ship and find the 'straight way', and come to the ancient or True West, and be at peace.  
>   
>  _The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien_ , Edited by Humphrey Carpenter, Letter 131 to Milton Waldman, late 1951?  
>   
> To [Elrond] therefore was granted the same grace as to those of the High Elves that still lingered in Middle-earth: that when weary at last of the mortal lands they could take ship from the Grey Havens and pass into the Uttermost West....  
>   
>  _The Return of the King_ , LoTR Appendix A, _Annals of the Kings and Rulers: Númenor_  
>   
>  [They]... looked on the distant Sea; and so they rode down at last to Mithlond, to the Grey Havens in the long firth of Lune.  
>   
>  _The Return of the King_ , LoTR Book 6, Ch 9, _The Grey Havens_  
>   
>  At the Grey Havens dwelt Círdan the Shipwright, and some say he dwells there still, until the Last Ship sets sail into the West.  
>   
>  _The Return of the King_ , LoTR Appendix A, _Annals of the Kings and Rulers: Eriador, Arnor, and the Heirs of Isildur_  
> 

And Círdan's people are the ones who build the special ships needed to convey the Elves to the Undying Lands:

> The 'immortals' who were permitted to leave Middle-earth... set sail in ships specially made and hallowed for this voyage, and steered due West towards the ancient site of these lands. They only set out after sundown; but if any keen-eyed observer from that shore had watched one of these ships he might have seen that it never became hull-down but dwindled only by distance until it vanished in the twilight: it followed the straight road to the true West and not the bent road of the earth's surface.  
>   
>  _The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien_ , Edited by Humphrey Carpenter, Letter 325 to Roger Lancelyn Green, 17 July 1971

So the loss of the Grey Havens would leave all Elves still remaining in Middle-earth trapped there, and vulnerable to Sauron's revenge, which would not be long coming. And a tragic side-effect is that no ships would arrive in the Undying Lands afterwards, so no one there would ever learn what happened to their loved ones, nor could they ever return to Middle-earth to find out:

> As [the straight road] vanished it left the physical world. There was no return. The Elves who took this road... had abandoned the 'History of the world' and could play no further part in it.  
>   
>  _The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien_ , Edited by Humphrey Carpenter, Letter 325 to Roger Lancelyn Green, 17 July 1971

  
For Dwimordene's birthday, May 2008; she asked for an Alternate Universe in 100 words, and I humbly hope this serves. 


	11. The Power Behind the Throne - by Altariel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

Taking it had been a kindness. The Ring-bearer had struggled at first but had soon become peaceful. That peace had settled upon all Gondor now, like frost.  
  
With the bridge retaken, his father was ready to hear his counsel, and his new king too listened when he told him how he might win their war. The South and the East – and the North – paid homage to the West. Everyone listened, now.  
  
But the White Tree did not blossom here, nor could the winter sun warm all of the new-laid marble and stone. This was not Minas Anor, as of old.


	12. Winnowing - by  Gwynnyd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

**Winnowing**

 "You were right, Gaffer. That crop made me a lot of money."  Bilbo mopped his red, sweaty face.   
   
Hamfast Gamgee straightened, leaning on his shovel's handle.  Of course he was right.  Bilbo cared more for tales than crops and Ham knew more about farming than Bilbo ever would.  
   
"Good job, m'boy. Here's something extra for you."  
   
Bilbo flipped Hamfast a coin that flashed gold.  Ham caught it and tugged at his forelock.  "Thankee, Mr. Bilbo," murmurred from his lips but his heart burned with the injustice.  His ideas, his skill, and his labor kept Bag End profitable.  Why should Bilbo lord it over the tenants and train up his namby-pamby foreign heir instead of making Ham his bailiff?  It should be his place.  It would be his.  Young Frodo would be easier to manage.  Played right, the whole estate would be his family's someday.  
   
The shovel whistled as it came down with a wet crack on Bilbo's skull.  Crouching down over the still form of his former master, Ham pulled a pouch heavy with gold and a thin chain from Bilbo's weskit pocket.  Hamfast slid the chain through his fingers.  It was all his now.  He slipped on the ring.  
  



	13. Inevitable - by Gwynnyd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

**Inevitable**

Honeysuckle always bloomed on the terrace.  Elrond gently fingered one of the fragile blooms that had darkened to gold and leaned in to breathe the sweet scent.  The vine was old.  Celebrian had laughed and suckled their sons and daughter under its arching stems. Surely it was an allowable use of the power of Vilya to keep her memory alive here under the flower that echoed her blend of gold and silver and sweetness.

His family would be gathered together again soon: Arwen, returned from a sojourn in Lorien, where he hoped she would have regained some of the joy that drained from her as the Age darkened; and his sons, the young son of his heart being taught by his twin sons the ways of war and Men in the wild, had come home.  

Firm footsteps sounded, and he turned to see that, in the months he had been gone, Estel had put off the child. He would be greater still in mind and body, but now a fine man approached him, tall, fair of face, grave of mien but with a wellspring of joy within, strong and kingly as was fitting in a descendent of Elros and Elendil.

"My son. Welcome home!" He held out his arms for an embrace.

Estel stopped short of hugging range and gave a deep reverence.

"Sir."  He straightened and Elrond saw him square his shoulders and take a deep breath.  "Returning to Rivendell from the Wild, we fell in with a party from Lorien and I met your daughter."

A cold qualm settled in Elrond's heart and he let his arms drop.

"She is all that is most fair. I loved her from the moment I saw her, and, against all my expectations, she loves me as well.  We stood on the pinnacle of the High Pass with all of Middle-earth spread out below us in the gold light of sunset, and she made her choice to marry me.  Life is short for Men.  We spoke our vows then and there."

Elrond closed his eyes and bowed his head, staring into an abyss, until he felt Arwen's gentle touch and voice.  "Father?  I knew we should have come together to tell you of our happiness.  Estel feared you would be wroth at our impetuosity, but I know you wish all your children to find the same joy you found with mother.  And I - and we have. "

He opened his eyes and saw that she had one hand entwined with her… husband's hand.  There was no mistaking the ties that bound them nor the joy in his daughter's heart.

"We have taken thought for the future," Estel said.  "I know I am only Gilraen's bastard, but I have some blood of Numenor from her, and I found this trip that Men will follow me."

"He did great deeds," Arwen insisted.

Estel shook his head.  "There are many in the Wild who turn to darkness because they have nowhere else to go. Arwen and I will forge a new kingdom along Anduin to give them hope and show them the right cause to fight for.  We can do this and will be your ally in the dark times ahead."

It was done and could not be undone.  The scent of honeysuckle grew stronger and a fleeting moment of warmth and love touched him.  He knew Celebrian would not expect Arwen to be at his side when he finally sought the West.  Elrond clasped Estel's - Aragorn's - shoulder and gave a rueful smile.  "There is something you should know about your father."


	14. At the Sign of the Prancing Pony - Nath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

Suddenly Frodo noticed a weatherbeaten stranger watching him from a shadowy corner. He was sipping from a tankard of ale, and an unlit pipe lay on the table in front of him. He wore a patched brown cloak.

"Who is he?" Frodo asked the innkeeper when he had a chance. "You didn't introduce him."

"Him?" Butterbur whispered in response. "Just one of the wandering folk; Rangers. Funny you should ask."

As Butterbur was called away, the stranger caught Frodo's eye and waved him over.

"My name is Halbarad," he said softly. "I am pleased to meet you, Master... Underhill."


	15. A Treasure Retrieved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For my birthday this year, I requested AUs or else political drabbles.

_With thanks to RiverOtter for the beta._  

A Treasure Retrieved 

            "What has it got in its pocketses?  Well, now we knows, doesn't we, Preciouss?" Gollum muttered to himself as he sought the one he was certain held his treasure.  "Thief!  Where is Baggins?" 

            Suddenly he heard a cry of surprise and pain; and although he could not see the one with whom he'd shared riddles in the dark, he had a good idea as to where he might be.  He ran toward where it sounded as if a creature might have tripped over a fallen stone, and found himself stumbling over an unseen body. 

            "So, we has you at last, has we?" Gollum said, wrapping his hands about the neck he might not see but could certainly feel.  "Thief!  False!" 

******* 

            Some hours later, his stomach full, he murmured, "Ah--much sweeter meat than orcses!  Must try this again, perhapsss.  Yes, we likes Hobbitses very much."  

            He sat back, then pulled the leather pouch he wore fastened to his rope belt loose, untying the coarse gut that usually held it closed.  "Here," he said as he picked up a now-visible object and examined it.  "You're a tricksy one, aren't you, my Precious?  But look--you have a finger now, all your own for when I can't wear you." 

            He smiled as he dropped Ring and finger into the bag.... 


End file.
